Three weeks ago, my mother died. She had many health problems, but her death was still unexpected. She died in her sleep, in her own bed, in her own apartment. My sister was devastated that she didn't get to say goodbye. But, Mom knew she loved her. And, she died just as she wanted to, not in a nursing home, not in a hospital. She just quietly slipped away in her sleep, to be found by her neighbor, who checked on her each morning. None of us want to think about dying, but, if we do consider it, wouldn't we all rather go exactly as she did? I choose to think this was a blessing for her
My sister and I went thru her effects about a week later. Mom was a "messy" -- we found all sorts of random things, stuffed together in grocery bags, in piles, in a drawer marked "Nightgowns". She still had my kindergarten report card. None of the others, just the one from kinder. Perhaps she was still proud that I was "ready for First Grade."
We also found a drawing I did in 9th grade. My art teacher that first semester of 9th grade art had a mission. His mission? To teach us how to draw. I remember this drawing vividly. He took us outside, and we each picked a house to draw. Looking at this drawing, I realized the project must have taken more than one class period. In my memory, tho, I remember sitting down to work, completely absorbed in the drawing. Here it is:
My sister and I went thru her effects about a week later. Mom was a "messy" -- we found all sorts of random things, stuffed together in grocery bags, in piles, in a drawer marked "Nightgowns". She still had my kindergarten report card. None of the others, just the one from kinder. Perhaps she was still proud that I was "ready for First Grade."
We also found a drawing I did in 9th grade. My art teacher that first semester of 9th grade art had a mission. His mission? To teach us how to draw. I remember this drawing vividly. He took us outside, and we each picked a house to draw. Looking at this drawing, I realized the project must have taken more than one class period. In my memory, tho, I remember sitting down to work, completely absorbed in the drawing. Here it is:
How amazing that my mother had kept it these many years. I found it in a pile, in the corner of a room. She probably meant to hang it on a wall when she moved into that apartment and just never got around to it, even tho she lived there for several years.
I had a different teacher the second semester of that school year. Her mission was to help us express our creativity. She gave us free reign, and I doubt I produced anything of much value. I look at the drawing above, and, despite some clunky details, I see the tools were there. What I needed was practice, practice, practice. Our first semester teacher knew this deep truth: teach them to draw, draw and draw some more. Creativity is useless without the tools.
I had a different teacher the second semester of that school year. Her mission was to help us express our creativity. She gave us free reign, and I doubt I produced anything of much value. I look at the drawing above, and, despite some clunky details, I see the tools were there. What I needed was practice, practice, practice. Our first semester teacher knew this deep truth: teach them to draw, draw and draw some more. Creativity is useless without the tools.
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